I Would Wear Paisley

I Would Wear Paisley

(“I will tend My flock and let them lie down.” Ezekiel 34:15a)

I have always like paisley,
beginning my teens in the 60s and
ending them in the 70s.
I could always rest for minutes on the
vinyl couch the color of early evening
forest green.

I am weary, not just today,
but annually.
I failed you, you failed me.
You fooled me, I was a fool.
I fooled them, other stood silent, the
words stolen from their mouths.
I still understand what I stained, decades of
carrying a burden and a mask.

There was energy in the backstage conversations,
the lead-up to the construction of
stories we only had begun to understand. We held
hands, sometimes kissed,
were always shy,
and never caught the caution that age and weariness
would bring.

Did I mention I am fatigued, did I rehearse the weight
I carried but could not name? I have declared my guilt,
I have fastened my shame to every bit of interest I have paid
trudging through wounds that shoved me like gravity
into late night drives that let the ghosts breathe for a while.

I always thought they would leave. Tears were my exorcism,
while I left the specifics open to interpretation.

Every time I speak now,
every time I wish for those eyes that saw through my disguise,
I feel the weight all over again. I deserve nothing more than
 days on end befriended by silence that breeds only more
weeping at my unreliable resolve.

I would lie down, I would find the sweat rolling from my back
on the old couch on a summer day. I would open the book
and let you read every word anonymously.

I would go to the party and now, so lately,
I would wear paisley.